


The Raging Sea

by Miang



Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Community: yaoi_challenge, M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-19
Updated: 2007-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miang/pseuds/Miang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashley is confused, Sydney takes advantage, and the shadows keep on changing...</p><p>Ashley/Sydney; the usual spoilers for Vagrant Story, plus explicit sex and body parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Raging Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toxictattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxictattoo/gifts), [Eldritch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldritch/gifts).



_The dream comes suddenly, as once before  
No warning save a breeze beneath his hands  
Where once cracked walls and russet dirt-packed floor  
Awaited him, now lush green grass-life stands  
Beneath a clear blue sky, forevermore..._

Ashley awakes, alone once more. The chill of the gritty earth beneath him seeps into his back. Swiftly he rises, cursing Sydney, the Dark, fate, and for good measure Sydney again, and then makes his way through the labyrinthine corridors of Leá Monde. He has no time to lose.

  


* * *

  
The first time, it is a subtle shift. A brilliant lightning-flash blinds him, and when the spots fade, Ashley stands in a too-familiar meadow, watching a family picnic underneath a tree. His family.

No: he _should_ be standing; he was standing before. Now he sits, among them, a sweet blonde woman to his left and a brown-haired tyke staring up adoringly at him from his spot to Ashley's right. "Papa, a sip of water!" the boy cries.

Achingly, Ashley plays his part. "Have some of Papa's wine, Marco!" he rejoins, though he knows not whether the memory is long-suppressed or one of recent making.

"Wait right there..." the woman says, her brows knitting in confusion. When she finishes with "...Riskbreaker," soft and inquisitive, her voice is no longer hers at all, but lower, and her hair has come undone, shoulder-length tresses splaying about a face that is more angular than Ashley had ever seen before. Fingers that are not fingers at all extend toward him, a cold substitute for a once-affectionate invitation.

He knows this face, those claws. When he opens his mouth to object, the vision ripples and fades from view.

* * *

He is picking his way through the Town Center South, dispatching the last few knights unfortunate enough to cross his path and sword, when it comes again. The play unfolds like before, and Ashley cannot suppress the irritation that surges through him when Sydney calls for him again. The man is incongruously supple in his wife's dress and necklace, gentle gaze belying none of the hard edges he knows to lurk just beneath the gentle surface.

"I'll fetch some water," Sydney resumes, voice dropping to a whisper. Ashley knows what is to transpire next, and his stomach lurches as he turns his head to face his dead son, so that Sydney's lips meet his cheek instead. It is a dry, papery feeling, this kiss; not at all like Tia's, which had been warm, slow and wet –- and _now,_ Ashley reprimands himself, is most certainly not the time to be thinking of that. Before the damned prophet can find something to steal and use against him from his lapse, Ashley rises and faces Sydney once more.

"What mean you by this, Sydney?" he demands.

Sydney lowers his gaze, expression contrite. "Don't you dare give Marco any wine," he counsels.

Ashley's expression turns even more sour. "Don't _you_ speak of him," he warns. "Believe or disbelieve my memories as you will, but do not trifle with them as though they matter not."

Sydney purses his lips, nonplussed, and then turns and waves a delicate wrist toward Marco. The boy dissolves into snowflies in a matter of seconds, wistful expression trained on Ashley, never faltering. "Indeed, they matter not," Sydney argues, "save as a distraction you can ill afford. Focus on the present, Ashley Riot, or you shall fail again –- and I dare say the stakes are higher this time."

Ashley's punch is as well-aimed and swiftly delivered as any blow he might have served with a sharper weapon, but Sydney's Dark-tinged reflexes are swifter still. Dodging the fist that comes flying from his left, in the span of a breath he moves inside Ashley's reach, metal fingertips crossing at the back of Ashley's neck. "Yes," he purrs, smirk growing as Ashley's eyes widen before narrowing, the only admission he will cede to his sudden discomfort. "You are angry, Riskbreaker," Sydney remarks conversationally. "It seems your soul has not entirely fled you...yet."

Ashley looks away, refusing to dignify the taunt with his own response.

"You needn't maintain the façade," Sydney continues, immune to the other man's apparent indifference. "The chase is only thrilling so long as it is true, and you, dear Ashley, have most certainly been caught." He leans in conspiratorially, steady gaze gauging Ashley's continued lack of response. "Suit yourself," he finally sighs, "but I'm certain you'll find this a more mutually satisfying endeavor if you'd consider being a little less tense?" Before Ashley digests the offer hidden in the questioning lilt of Sydney's voice, Sydney closes his eyes and anoints Ashley with a chaste kiss.

Instinctively, Ashley recoils, only to find the razored eldritch-metal of Sydney's claws still pressed in warning against his neck. Sydney opens his eyes languorously, his supple mouth curving into a wicked smile as realization spreads across Ashley's features. "No, Agent Riot," he chides, licking and nipping along his quarry's firm jawline. "You will find no escape here. You may, however," –- and here he drops to Ashley's neck, scraping his teeth along the sun-warmed flesh –- "find quarter, for a time..."

Ashley swallows against the feeling, and he can feel Sydney's lips broaden even wider at the response. Steeling himself against further concessions to the prophet, he closes his eyes, only to reopen them a moment later when no intrusion is forthcoming. A wisp of white cloth flutters against him as Sydney cocks his head to the side, considering –- no, _listening_ –- before straightening in comprehension. Sydney bends toward him, hands dropping from their perch at his neck so that the flat of each palm rests on a well-muscled buttock. In the same moment that they pull gently, spreading, Sydney drops his mouth to the juncture of shoulder and collarbone and _suckles._

It is wet, and it is warm, and the feeling of it shoots straight to Ashley's groin. Caught unawares despite his intention, he tips his head back and parts his lips in a guttural moan. The force of it is barely more than a simple exhalation, but that is all the advantage Sydney requires, stealing back up to claim Ashley's mouth in a searing kiss.

When they part, breathless, Sydney regards his prey from beneath lowered lids and smiles again, more softly this time. "She seems to know you well," he murmurs.

Ashley's head swims, and at once the strangeness of his situation hits him with the force of a dragon's blow. "Tia?" he spits, gut clenching.

"No," comes the reedy reply as the vision fades. "The Dark."

* * *

Sydney does not speak when he pulls Ashley's consciousness from the lowest level of the city's abandoned mines. Rather, he stares impassively at the Riskbreaker while the wind swirls about his white skirts, a state of affairs Ashley inexplicably finds more disconcerting than the unwelcome advances to which he was treated on their last visit. Ashley raises an eyebrow at the claws resting demurely at Sydney's sides, and offers, "Passivity does not suit you, Sydney."

Sydney merely continues to stare at him; unsettled, Ashley presses further: "It seems a little too like submission..." Sydney remains mute, but Ashley thinks he sees defiance flare in the mage's eyes, and this heartens him. "Or do you yield at last?" he ventures.

That earns a reaction, if not commentary. Sydney stalks toward Ashley with purposeful strides, affixing him with his slate-gray gaze, until they are mere centimeters apart. Ashley tenses, settling his stance for combat –- or a more insidious attack, he acknowledges to himself –- but Sydney remains content to investigate him up close, reading the displacement of the air surrounding Ashley's body as his blood courses through him, heart pounding in battle-readiness.

They wait thus, the battle of stillness rather than motion, for a longer time than either can attend to count. Eventually, Sydney relents, standing down. The air is cool between them, no longer warmed by ricocheting between their chests, and Ashley twitches minutely against the restlessness of a fight gone nowhere. His sentiments are premature, however; no sooner has Sydney taken a step backward than the claws are out once more –-

-– and turned on himself, Ashley realizes belatedly, lowering his fists by force against the protestations of his soldier's instincts. The blunt edges of his fingernails dig half-moon impressions in his palms as he watches the shreds of Tia's dress fall away from the man. Sydney wears nakedness like any other finery, and the part of Ashley that is not fixated on the beautiful form before him has the decency to cringe at how quickly the blood that had so recently been preparing him to fight settles lower, preparing him for another sort of encounter entirely. Sydney splays his metal fingers outward, settles the blunt planes against his sides, and draws them inward and up; Ashley cannot look away even as his mind rails against him.

When the vision pales, the afterimage of Sydney ghosting those metal limbs over his hardening cock lingers, and Ashley has just enough time to wonder at the disappointment resonating in his blood as it thrums within him.

* * *

Ashley is ready this time, soon after, and his groin throbs pleasantly as he realizes they have already dispensed with the preliminaries. He grips the soft fabric gathered at the back of Sydney's neck with his un-slicked hand, pulling hard enough to strangle the young mage had he not extended his arms downward to support his weight. "I may have made concessions from some soft sentiment," he growls, "but I bend for no one, Sydney."

Sydney gives a high laugh at that and tilts his neck back, staring up coquettishly at Ashley. "Ah, but you _would_ for me, if I would have you thus," he teases, and instantly he is behind Ashley, thumb-edge denting into the taut skin of Ashley's throat and linen-clad erection pressed firm against Ashley's backside. He drops the flat of his left hand down to rub flush against Ashley's cock, humming softly against his ear. "Do not forget who is the master here," he advises Ashley in a warm voice. "I would let you take me because it is what you know, because our time is limited and you are meant for greater purpose than simple pleasures of the flesh. But make no mistake, you would be mine if I deemed it so." He punctuates the last remark with a bite to Ashley's earlobe, sharp enough that a drop of blood remains as he withdraws.

Ashley eyes the razor-fingers below him dubiously, though Sydney has been mindful to keep them away from tender flesh as he palms Ashley in a slow, steady rhythm. Finally, Ashley grumbles, "Have me though you might, you would never master me." Still, he turns over affably enough, spreading Sydney's legs above him and sliding the prophet down until Ashley's erection rests against the cleft of Sydney's ass.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sydney breathes as he shifts his weight onto his knees. With practiced ease he lowers himself onto Ashley, the folds of the white linen skirt pooling all around him. Once fully seated, he begins to rock forward with excruciating slowness, delighting in the way Ashley's eyes flutter closed briefly at the sensation before the man can force them open again. "You know," he groans as Ashley thrusts up to meet him, "I had intended you to take me from behind, to let you pretend as long as you could that she were with you again..."

Ashley snorts, and slides a finger along Sydney's firm cock, trailing the fluid there around the head and back down the shaft. "Yes," he agrees derisively, "you are certainly the very embodiment of femininity."

Sydney's laugh trails off into a light gasp as Ashley replaced the lone finger with a saliva-slick palm. "I –- aah –- rather had a –- nnnh –- change of heart when I learned how receptive you were to this form."

Ashley hides the blush that threatened to rise in response by rocking harder into Sydney, breath coming shorter with the effort. "Why the skirts, then?" he pants. "If, as you say, I have no need for pretense..."

"Ahh, Ashley," Sydney moans, and his claws are reducing the grasses to clippings beside Ashley's head. "Not everything is about you."

Ashley smirks at that, satisfied, and presses against Sydney's tattoo with the flat of one hand as the other quickens its movements around Sydney's cock. His own thrusts are coming more quickly, now, shallow and irregular as he focuses on bringing himself to completion. Mere moments later, he empties himself into the prophet with a grunt, careful neither to stop the ministrations of his hand nor squeeze too tightly as he rides out the wave of climax.

He watches Sydney as his senses return to him. The mage is lost in his own reveries, eyes closed an mental focus turned inward –- the heat of the Dark prickling against his back and Ashley inside him, Ashley's hand on him. He rears back against Ashley's final thrusts, dropping lower, closer to the man as Sydney himself thrusts counterpoint to the movements of Ashley's hand. As his orgasm spills messily over Ashley's hand and chest, Sydney cries out, "Find me, Ashley!" He crumples against the fighter's body, spent; with what remains of a tremulous voice that is dangerously close to breaking, he murmurs, "Please. Before it is too late."

Ashley stares dumbly at the lithe body splayed over his. The weight is wrong, he realizes; even a man of Sydney's stature ought create a burden of greater heft...

 _The stakes are higher this time._

 _You are meant for greater purpose than simple pleasures of the flesh._

 _Find me, Ashley, please. Before it is too late._

The voice of a boy not even Marco's age drifts to him on a cool breeze. "He intends to die," the mournful lilt calls, as though from a great distance.

"No," Ashley protests, but too late at that; already the edges are fading, the meadow dissolving and drifting away not long after Sydney himself does.

Ashley awakes, alone once more.

The chill of the gritty earth beneath him seeps into his back...


End file.
